


An Autumn Sort of Man

by Ruyu



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-11
Updated: 2010-10-11
Packaged: 2017-10-13 12:59:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/137627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ruyu/pseuds/Ruyu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock decided that John was an autumn sort of man. He was the season personified, stuck into the body of small, medically trained, loyal, tea drinking, military doctor named John Watson.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Autumn Sort of Man

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Осенний тип людей](https://archiveofourown.org/works/609415) by [Rainy_Elliot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rainy_Elliot/pseuds/Rainy_Elliot)



> The **Autumn** entry on my [100 Stories Prompt Table](http://ruyu.livejournal.com/109078.html)  
>  Now available in Russian thanks to Rainy_Elliot: [Read Here](http://www.diary.ru/~sherlockbbc/p133684685.htm)

Sherlock decided that John was an autumn sort of man. He was the season personified, stuck into the body of small, medically trained, loyal, tea drinking, military doctor named John Watson.

Sherlock took note of John's measly array of clothing; all being earth tone colors, beiges, reds and a few light green items. He was hardly a man to walk around in anything higher on the color spectrum. (John caught Sherlock staring and he stared right back, eyeing the purple of Sherlock's shirt warily. John would look quite spectacular in purple and Sherlock vowed to buy him something of that shade.)

John came home from the supermarket one day, bags in each of his hands, cheeks red from the wind. Sherlock's meticulous, full body scan of John led his eyes straight to the red leaf caught in his colleagues wind tossed hair. He rose to assist John, smiling at the look on John's face as he took the shopping from his hands and carried them to the kitchen for him. John was often shocked at some of Sherlock's actions, but then, John usually had something to say about it. This time, it seemed, Sherlock had managed to shock John Watson speechless.

Sherlock thusly returned to a silent John who was looking around the flat for something amiss, something that would explain Sherlock's odd behavior. John's eyes grew even wider as Sherlock helped him out of his coat and hung it for him.

"Sherlock?" John finally managed to croak out.

Sherlock gave him a truly cryptic grin and retuned to the sofa, saying nothing of the matter, a small red leaf tucked between his fingers.

~

He had discovered a wonderful coffee shop in London that made the most delectable pumpkin spice lattes and he took it upon himself to buy one for John on fridays. The first time he had brought the hot beverage in to John, the man had looked at it warily as asked, "What is it, Sherlock?"

"A latte," Sherlock said simply.

John took it, inspected it for tampering and then took a small sip. Sherlock stepped closer and felt John's heated breath escape him. It was delightfully warm and smelt of pumpkin spice and John somehow. Pure John.

"Good stuff," John huffed after taking another sip. "How did you know I liked pumpkin spice?"

Sherlock stared at John's full, coffee-slick lips. "Just a guess."

"You never guess." Another sip and a raised eyebrow.

~

 

When the autumn weather grew too chilly, Sherlock began to wrap a scarf around John as they left 221B. No matter how much John fussed with it and insisted he didn't do scarves, Sherlock would always wind it around his companions neck and tug him along on a case.

After a full week of the cold streak in the weather, John stopped fussing and eventually put it on without Sherlock's aid. John eyed him meaningfully and knotted the scarf, tucking the ends beneath his jacket. "Let's go." And off they went, smiling.

~

The nighttime cold was difficult for John. He often rubbed his hands together to relieve the cold ache that plagued his fingers. John raised his fingers to his mouth, breathing a warm cloud upon them. Sherlock watched the breath freeze in the cold of night and hated the thought of John losing his own warmth. Hated that the doctor was aching in any way.

As they waited outside the backdoor of a dance club, watching for a suspected (and anticipated) drug deal about to take place, Sherlock tugged John in front on him and grasped his hands and stuffed them into his own coat pockets. He heard John give a huff and a shiver, but no resistance to Sherlock's actions. John's hands lingered a moment in his pockets before he pulled them out and grabbed Sherlock's, interlocking their fingers and pushing both pairs back into his coat.

"John..." Sherlock began but then John stepped closer to him.

"No, Sherlock. It's fine, remember, it's all fine," he reminded him. "And thank you for the scarf."

Sherlock felt John's finger begin to warm against his own. He gave them a quick squeeze and returned to watching the door to the club, silently praying that, for once, the criminals would not walk through the door.

~

Sherlock did the logical thing and bought John a pair of warm, black leather gloves. He quite liked them, but he'd never be able to wear them himself. John's hands were smaller than his own. When they'd waited on the club drug bust, Sherlock noticed how his own fingers wrapped around John's within his pockets. His fingers were about two and half centimeters longer than John's.

The next cold night, John and himself were off to have dinner. The sun dropped out of sight and he saw the first clench of John gloveless hand; gloves that Sherlock knew he'd placed in John's coat pockets. How did he manage to not have them?

"Where are your gloves?" He asked, honestly perplexed.

John patted his pockets thoughtlessly and answered, “Must have left them at the flat.”

“Right,” Sherlock said, unconvinced.

“I’ll remember them next time.” Sherlock simply nodded.

As they passed the next few blocks, John began walking closer and closer to him. The man would dodge objects/other people and return even closer than before. Sherlock’s ever watchful eyes honed in on John’s fingers, clenched like they held a precious object, white knuckled and stiff.

Their elbows bumped together and Sherlock bit his lip as he swung his hand out to catch John’s and push their palms together. Moments later, their hands made their way into his pocket again and Sherlock couldn't help but grin.

~

It was a friday, naturally, when Lestrade text him and requested his presence on police business. Mobile in one hand and John’s now customary latte in the other, Sherlock headed up the stairs to the flat and gave John his coffee and a wistful look. He had always been there to watch John drink his latte and he was sorely tempted to dismiss Lestrade’s text in order to do so. But...

“Lestrade. Text. Case. Be back later,” he explained hurriedly, regretfully, much to John’s surprise.

He was down the street when he heard his name called. “Sherlock!”

He paused and allowed John to catch up with him. He had both his scarf and gloves.

“I’m coming with you,” John said almost reverently as he reach Sherlock and then tugged him closer to kiss him squarely on the mouth. John and pumpkin spice tasted brilliant together.

Sherlock always knew John Watson was an autumn sort of man.


End file.
